Family

Some of you are probably wondering where my family was during all this. I mean, I haven't really mentioned them beyond my first couple of posts, so maybe its time to take it back to the family.

Let's start with my mom. Like I said, I had moved out of her house after we had a huge fight because she found out I was dancing. She didn't kick me out. I voluntarily left, but I always told people she kicked me out because.... well, I don't really know why I told people that. I guess it sounded better than saying that I left because I couldn't face the disappointment that was sure to be on her face day after day. But my mom, God bless her soul, was a pillar of strength during this time. Yes, she cried and didn't sleep well at night, knowing where I was and what I was doing. But she was strong, and instead of pushing me away by telling me what a huge sinner I was, and constantly nagging me about my choice of occupation, she was there for me. If I was having problems paying my bills, she would help me out. If she came over and my fridge was empty, she would take me shopping. It even got to the point where if I didn't have a ride to work, she would come and get me and drive me to the strip club, even though it was an hour away, even though she HATED dropping me off there. Some of you may be thinking "What the crap?? I would never take my daughter to work if she worked at a strip club!!! Well, I never!!!" But you don't understand Mom like I do.

You see, Mom wasn't facilitating me. She wasn't the reason I was stripping. Did she take me when I needed a ride? Yes. Did she want me to be doing what I was doing? NO! But my mom knew that if she didn't take me, someone else would. I was going to get to work one way or another, and this way, she knew exactly where I was because she was the one that took me there. I think also, that if something horrible did happen to me, this was her way of ensuring that she got to see me and tell me she loved me one last time.

In a way, my mom's acceptance of me without judgment brought us closer together. We kind of bonded over the fact that we were both the black sheep in the family; she was the family lesbian and I was the family stripper. This bond opened up doors for us to talk about things that she had never really been able to discuss with any of her other children. She told me about why she was the way she was, and what events in her life led up to her decisions and for the first time, I UNDERSTOOD her. I saw the hurting person that she was, and how strong she had been to overcome some of these things that had happened to her. My mom had been to Hell and back and yes, she came out the other side wounded and now she struggles with an unnatural attraction, but if that is the only thing she struggles with, then fine! Mom had every excuse in the world to be an abusive, messed up individual, but she ended up being an amazing mother and care taker, and if I end up being even HALF the woman she is, I'll be doing alright.

I don't really know what was going on with my Dad. We didn't have a relationship. Dad had moved in with my sister in Indiana after a car wreck that left him with a broken back. He couldn't work and he was facing jail time, and so he went to stay with my sister until he figured out what he was going to do. In time, his wife and her 2 children moved to Indiana also, and they all got their own place together. When my Mom and I would go visit Jessica, that is when I saw my dad. That's really the only time. We didn't talk on the phone. He never called me on my birthday, but in all fairness, I never called him on his either. I wasn't bitter or angry about it or anything like that. Yes, I had daddy issues. So do most strippers. But honestly, I just didn't care that much. There is an old saying that goes 'You don't miss what you never had.' This was true in my case. My dad was never a huge part of my life, and so I didn't miss it. My older sibling remember the good ol' Dad, before the drinking took over his life. But I don't. The only good memories I had of him were few and far between and they ended when I was about 7 or 8. Sometimes I wished that he had been there... there were countless missed talent shows and school programs, but in the end, those things really didn't matter and  so I didn't dwell on it too much. I know that Dad knew what I was doing, but I don't know how he reacted, or if he even cared.

My brother was just pissed off about it. He found out about me stripping and from what I hear, almost broke his foot kicking the wall. He always wanted to be that man to me... the one I could go to instead of Daddy. But I never gave him the chance. I guess I was just hurt by the first man that left me, and so I closed myself off. Cliff was always so good to me when I was little. But as I got older, I pulled back, and even though he tried to reach me, I was already out of his reach by the time I was in middle school. I'll never forget that song he wrote for me though. He was in a band called Rosedale when I was in middle school, and man, I never thought my brother was cooler. I would try to hang around while he and the other band members were practicing in the den, and he would let me stay as long as I wasn't too annoying. He had some cute friends and I was in Jr. high, so you can just imagine....

But he wrote this song for me, and it was called "Fatherless Child". I could hear his love for me in that song, and it touched a deep place in my heart. It still does. When I think of it, I cry sometimes, because that song was practically begging for my life. One of the lines of the songs says "Don't let her fall for this world's romance". That was my brother's prayer for me, and even though I did, in fact, fall for the world's romance, the fact that he cared enough to even devote one afternoon of his life to writing a song for his little sister... well, that speaks of his character.

I tried not to talk to my sisters too often. They were so holy and all about Jesus and quite frankly, I was sick of hearing about it. I loved them, but their Godliness convicted me, so if they happened to get me on the phone, I would only talk for about 5-10 minutes and was very vague about what was going on with me, so they wouldn't know what I was doing. But they knew. Word had gotten around. I thought I was hiding it so well, but I wasn't fooling anyone. After the shooting at the strip club, when I quit, I went to a Joyce Meyer conference with both of my sisters and my mom. I told my sisters then that I had been dancing, but they told me that they already knew all along. I didn't want to have to hide anymore. At that point in time, I had no plans on going back, but you all know how that ended up.

But I also didn't want to talk to them because I didn't feel as if I fit in. My sister Andrea was in this discipleship program in Detroit, and when I would go see her, I always felt as if she was just waiting for me to say something wrong, so she could hurry up and sweep it under the rug. I remember one time in particular, when I went to visit her, we were at her Pastor's house with a bunch of the other kids in the program. We were talking about my mom's old Volkswagon van from the 50's, and I jokingly made a remark about it being called "The Lesbian-mobile" because it was all decked out in rainbows.... and then everyone kind of laughed awkwardly as my sister rushed to cover up what I just said. And it embarrassed me! It seemed like every time I was around Christians, I embarrassed myself, and my family was quick to try and cover it up. I was like the old friend who is invited to a wedding, but secretly, everyone hopes that person doesn't give a speech. Well, as far as I was concerned, I didn't need correcting! If I couldn't be who the heck I was, without someone trying to censor me, then I just didn't want to be around these people. Things like that also fed into my feelings of distrust and further reinforced the fact that I wanted nothing to do with Christianity.

So when Jessica, my oldest sister, got on the phone with me and started telling me about Jesus' love for me, like she inevitably did every single time we talked, I wasn't trying to hear it. To me, Jesus' love was synonymous with Christian's love... and honestly, I only felt loved by Christians as long as I didn't say the wrong thing.